Resurrection
by becuzitswrong
Summary: A soul fragment unleashed. A merging of sorts. How will a different Harry Potter take on his fourth year? How will others react to a ruthless and practical Harry? Where does Harry Potter leave off and Tom Riddle begin? Will a different darkness threaten the world? Answers lie within.
1. Chapter One—Pain

**Resurrection**

**by becuzitswrong**

**Summary:** When Harry cast a Patronas that drove off a hundred Dementors, he broke the seals on a binding on his magic set upon him by Albus Dumbledore more than eleven years earlier. A binding, cast in fact, so as to keep a certain soul fragment weak, without access to strong magic. This is the story of the consquences of that event.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of Harry Potter. I merely want to play at Hogwarts.

**AN:** I have had this plot bunny bouncing around in my head for some time and needed to get it down on paper. Here it is. If there's a good reception, I'll continue it. I have a lot of ideas as to where this goes and what happens.

**Chapter One—Pain**

Harry suppressed a groan of pain as another agonizing throb tore through his head. He blearily stared up at the plain, white-painted ceiling of the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive. Late afternoon sunlight poured through the thin, ragged curtains of the room's only window, telling at a glance the approximate time.

Harry was aware of the discomfort of the old, worn out mattress beneath him, but it paled in comparison to the throbbing in his head. A throbbing that had started while he was still at school and had only gotten worse since his return home.

Home. Only the thought of the pain worsening kept him from snorting at the idea that he considered this place home. The house he'd grown up in with the Dursleys wasn't home. Home was a shining castle atop a hill in northern Scotland where the Great Hall was a reflection of the sky. Not this place of misery and pain where he had not one happy memory.

The pain, which had receded slightly at his thoughts of Hogwarts, crashed back into his skull strengthened threefold as he thought of the Dursleys. His aunt, Petunia. His uncle, Vernon. His cousin, Dudley. Pain battered and tore at his sanity as he punished himself with thoughts of them. He-

Harry blinked as a thin trickle of liquid temporarily blinded him. His scar. It was bleeding again. It had been doing so with increasing frequency since even before his return from Hogwarts. Since-

His thoughts whited out and there was only pain. Harry wondered if he was dying. He'd collapsed from the pain in the middle of yesterday's chores. He vaguely remembered someone carrying him upstairs and placing him ungently upon his bed. That was the last human contact he'd had.

A couple of times the locks on his door had clicked and it had opened. When he hadn't responded, the door had closed and the locks had clicked again. Harry had vaguely scented food, but had not been able to get up to try to go to it and eat. Each time, pain had shattered him until he was too weak to even scream, only low moans and grunts betraying its effects.

It wasn't so bad to die. At least there would be peace. The pain faded a moment and Harry imagined that was how Heaven would be. Peaceful and pain-free. He might even see his parents, struggling to remember their faces from the few photographs of them he'd seen. They might even tell him they lov-

Harry felt his body convulsing as pain far more intense than anything he'd experienced to date ripped him apart. The coppery taste of blood, like old pennies, filled his mouth and he knew he'd bitten his tongue. More liquid trailed from his nose, like thin snot, but he knew it was blood as well. He _was_ dying.

Harry's breathing worsened, the convulsions feeling like they'd broken something inside of him. Why? Why now, in fact? Harry could accept the straight-forward fact of his death, but it was the why's that baffled him. After all that he'd survived, after fighting off Volde-

Harry's heeled drummed against the broken springs of his bed as more blood filled his mouth. Weakly, he turned he turned his head just enough and spat it out. There. At least he wouldn't drown in blood. And he finally had a hint of the why.

Harry blanked his thoughts, careful not to think of what his subconscious was screaming at him. He needed to get help and he focused on that thought as his brain fritzed out again. He gasped as conscious thought returned.

Hedwig. Where was Hedwig? His second friend and his familiar, Hedwig could find someone to help him. Then Harry remembered that Hedwig was gone, out of the country, to Italy. To deliver a letter to his best friend. Hermione. She-

Everything faded to black.

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Consciousness swayed in and out for Harry for the next few hours. Finally, though, he opened to darkness, only slightly weakened by light likely coming in through his window. He was too weak to turn his head to look. He could barely move his eyes enough to catch glimpses of shadows and even that hurt nearly as much as the throbbing in his head.

It was at that point Harry knew he wasn't getting out of this. So there was no point in hiding anymore. He knew. Harry closed his eyes and spoke into his own head, _Tom? Tom, are you there?_

For a moment, nothing happened. For a moment, Harry thought that all that had happened to him had a reasonable explanation; a rare Wizarding disease or a spell gone awry. Or perhaps just insanity. That's when it happened. When he heard the reply.

_Yes._

Harry lay there, making no further attempt to communicate, as he contemplated this information. He didn't know what to think. Voldemort was here. Inside of his head. And likely the cause of the terrible pain and disability he was feeling. Harry could barely wrap his mind around the idea.

Worse, he could apparently read Harry's thoughts because whenever they'd strayed to certain 'forbidden' areas, he'd hit Harry with even worse pain. Thoughts like Muggles, Hermio-

Harry couldn't even whimper as pain so intense it felt like it was burning out his mind roared through him. He could no longer feel his body, just a strange heaviness that lay somewhere outside his mind. He sent a silent thought, _Please, stop._

_No._

It was the scar. Somehow part of Voldemort was lodged inside his scar, probably from _that_ night. Maybe a part like the Diary? He needed to test his idea.

Desperately Harry tried to communicate with tormentor. _Why are you doing this? You'll kill us both._

Scornful laughter was his reply. Was his idea wrong to bring such a reaction? Harry could feel himself giving up, surrendering to the darkness as it battered him. Still, he gathered himself and asked again. A single word. _Why?_

After what felt like hours to his disembodied state, but could have been any amount of time, Harry heard a reply.

_Mudblood filth, do not seek to question the great Lord Voldemort. You are not worth the effort of understanding._

Harry had fallen so far he couldn't even form words anymore. But, somehow, he gathered the will to send scorn across between them. The bastard could never stand being treated as if he didn't matter.

_We are not dying. _You_ are dying. When you do, I'll emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. A new Harry Potter will arise. I'll use the very worship and adulation they have for you to take control. I'll lie and seduce and they will walk willingly into bondage, while I _save_ them from the Dark Lord._

Harry felt horror and fear at the idea of someone using him like a Trojan Horse to destroy the Wizarding World. He wanted to know more. He sent doubt and denial down the link.

_And who'll stop me? Dumbledore? That old fool. He'll never even see me coming as I become exactly what he hoped you'd be. Fudge? Fool. Your friends? Oh, you think you're friends will figure it out. I promise you, they won't. Not in time, at least. Before that happens, I'll kill the dog and the wolf. I'll slaughter the red-headed Blood-traitors. The Mudblood... Oh, I have special plans for her. I'll do things to her wearing your face that will destroy her even before I turn her over to my loyalest followers as a toy. When they're done, there won't be anything left of the little whore exce-_

Harry roused himself as rage poured through his mind, temporarily weakening the pain as he ripped and tore at the other's mind. Oddly, he felt the world darken as he wrestled with the presence within himself, driving it back. But with every attack, he felt thinner, almost translucent if such a thing mattered in the dark. The Harry heard it again. The contemptuous laughter. It assailed him with a feeling of dread and a scent like old, rotted blood. He felt like a breath would banish him.

_Pathetic creature. Your attacks only weaken yourself. I am so deeply inside of you that I am you. All you do by struggling is to make my victory come more quickly. Do you want to hear more? Details? Like how I'll use the Cruciatus Curse on the Weasleys one by one until they go mad then die while those remaining watch knowing they're next? Or how I'll seduce the Mudblood, use her, violate her, while she falls ever more deeply for me. Then, when her trust for me is greatest, I'll let my followers have her. Perhaps Malfoy's boy can go first. I'm sure he's been aching to put the little whore in her place since he met her. From what I remember of his father, Malfoy always had certain _appetites_. I'm sure his son has inherited them. Hermione will so enjoy finding out about them. As she is violated in every manner possible, she'll know it was you who was behind it. She'll..._

Harry mentally sighed in relief as the voice faded. He didn't know what he'd done, but suspected he'd only sank deeper into oblivion. The idea did nothing to reduce his fear. It was all but crippling. If he could have cried, sobs would be tearing through right now. But being disembodied had yet another disadvantage. He couldn't use tears to release the painful ache of his emotions.

Working past the agony of emotion that threatened what little sanity he had left. Harry tried to think. He came up with schemes and ideas, discarding them almost instantly. After all, he didn't have any of the things he needed to accomplish, like a body or his wand. No, totaling up his assets gave him the sum total of nothing. Okay, there was this last little vestige of him hanging around some corner of his mind, but that was it.

Harry wondered if Voldemort could already move around in his body. He couldn't tell, having lost all connection to his physical self some unknown amount of time ago. At least he didn't hurt.

Harry was no longer in pain. It had faded along with the rest of his physical sensations. Instead he felt nothing. Complete silence along with absolute blackness surrounded him. Harry made no effort to struggle, instead he rested, the absence of pain surprisingly relaxing. Then he heard the voice.

_Are you still there, little Potter?_

Almost Harry sent a burst of something, but at the last second decided against it. Instead he thought about everything Riddle had said to him. Was there anything he could use? Something niggled at him, wanting to be brought to light. Then Harry was distracted as Riddle spoke again.

_Give up, Potter. You can't win. This is my body now. It has been since that accident destroyed my other one._

That was just odd. Shouldn't Riddle be up and about by now, wearing his Harry suit? Why continue to talk to Harry? What did it gain him? The one thing that Harry had learned from his confrontations with Voldemort was that he did nothing without a reason. Nothing without seeking an advantage.

Was it possible that Riddle hadn't won yet? That Harry still had a chance? Harry allowed his perceptions to touch his surroundings and scoffed at the idea. Yeah, because he hadn't just been driven from control of his body by crippling pain.

Maybe it was more that Riddle couldn't fully take over so long as Harry was also there. He'd already tricked Harry into attacking himself and nearly driving himself into insubstantiality. If Harry had a body, he's be red-faced and angry at being so stupid as to fall for the trick. Okay, so finally there was one advantage to being disembodied.

What had Riddle said? Again Harry was distracted by a voice.

_Potter, I'm looking for you. When I find you, I'll finish what I started._

Harry wished him good luck with that. Meanwhile he worked on his memory to no avail. Why couldn't he remember something that had just been said to him? Like an icy north wind, the idea settled upon him. Harry was fading.

The void was around him and nothing he did affected it. And now Harry was losing even his ability to remember, just as he'd lost his body and his ability to communicate. He needed that memory. There was something that Riddle had said...

A fragment came to him.

..._Weasleys one by one until they go mad then die while those remaining watch knowing they're next? Or how I'll seduce the Mudblood..._

No, that wasn't it. Harry concentrated, his very focus using up what little there was left of him, like a lantern uses its oil for light. Where was it? Where?

Like a dream, another part fluttered into place.

... _aching to put the little whore in her place since he met her. From what I remember of his father, Malfoy always had certain _appetites_. I'm sure his son has inherited them. Hermione will so enjoy finding out about..._

Harry flinched both at the words and how little was left of him. I'm just a dream, he thought. Just a dream. What was it that Riddle said in my dream?

…_attacks only weaken yourself. I am so deeply inside of you that I am you. All you do by struggling is to make my victory come more _...

Harry was just a wisp now, guttering in an unseen, unfelt breeze. It was here. The first part? Maybe. Just maybe. Riddle said _I am so deeply inside of you that I am you._ _I am you._

Harry wondered where he was. _I am you._ What was that strange, alien thought? _I am you._ It wouldn't leave him alone.

Why is it so dark here? Harry felt so strange, as insubstantial as a bubble of soap. _I am you._

Harry whispered into the void. _Leave me alone._

_I am you._ Echoed back.

Harry was about to pop and if he did, there'd be nothing left. _I am you._

Harry drifted along, so light. He was going... _I am you._

It wouldn't leave him alone. What did the words want? _I am you._

_I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you._

He was Harry. And he needed... There was something... _I am you._

Harry focused and used that last bit of wick that was left, all of the fuel gone. I am Harry Potter and I-

Realization touched him and as he began to come apart, Harry Potter surrendered.

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On a ragged bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive, a boy, small for his age, dressed in ragged clothes, a lightning bolt scar gracing his forehead, slowly opened green eyes and smiled darkly.

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	2. Chapter Two—Mirror

**Chapter Two—Mirror**

He stared out into the darkness. Everything was annoyingly blurry. He fumbled for the glasses on the bedside table and put them on. Not a lot better, but it would suffice for now. He slowly got up, stumbling slightly. This body felt strange, both weak and clumsy. The locked door stymied him for only a moment, then a gesture brought clicking sounds.

With slow, shambling steps, he made it to the loo. Fumbling for the light switch, he banged his shin against the vanity and bit back a curse. Finally, he found it and bright light flooded the room. He stared at the reflection in the mirror.

It confirmed what his other senses had told him. The image before him was of someone weak and scrawny, standing barely five feet tall. Malnourishment had hollowed out cheekbones and brought about the stick figure appearance. He looked like a war camp survivor.

Well, that could be fixed, along with the eyesight. A great many issues needed to be remedied over the coming two months before he returned to Hogwarts. He would begin by dealing with that Muggle filth that infested this house. He make them suf-

He barely made it to the toilet before his guts erupted and he spewed stomach acid into the pristine basin in front of him. There was nothing else in there after days without food. Still it took several minutes before he could get things under control. Finally he managed to stumble back to his feet and back to the mirror.

Staring at the image before him, he said, "Okay, so no killing the Muggles."

That seemed the right thing to say as he saw the face there relax, lines and creases smoothing over. Vaguely he wondered what the limits of this ban on killing was. He pictured a basket of puppies and a pot of boiling water. This time he didn't even make it to the toilet and ended up hurling stomach acid into the sink. After more of that than he could imagine having inside himself, it finally stopped.

Again, he stared into the mirror. Instinctively, he shied away from memories of events from the past. No need to repeat the experience yet a third time. Yet oddly, he knew he could kill. The cold, green eyes of the figure in the mirror were those of a killer. He was a killer. And his name was...

He tried out, "I am Tom Marvolo Riddle."

His mirror image seemed unimpressed. He leaned in and stared him right in the eye without blinking. Finally, he blinked first. Fine.

Next, he tried, "I am Lord Voldemort."

All he got for his trouble was a sneer. Nobody sneered at Lord Voldemort except the fool in the mirror.

So he tried that, "Fool."

The sneer was still intact. So not a fool. But he remembered being Voldemort. He remembered doing so many-

He thought he was going to turn inside out before he stopped heaving. He shakily rinsed the sink, then splashed cold water on his face. Then he turned back to the mirror.

The figure there looked as pale and shaky as he felt. He addressed himself, "You're going to have to toughen up if we're to survive."

That got him a nod and he suppressed a feeling of triumph. In celebration, he tried again, "I am Harry James Potter."

His image looked back at him contemplatively. Still, it didn't feel completely right. Harry James Potter was soft and weak. He allowed others to make his decisions. He avoided confrontations with his friends and lacked subtlety in dealing with his enemies. Harry James Potter was a victim. And _he_ was not.

He tried different combinations of names. Harry Tom Potter. Tom James Potter. Harry Tom Riddle. Tom Marvelo Potter. Lord Pottermort. Dark Lord Potter...

That last one brought a smile to his face. He rather liked it, if only for the dramatic sense of it. Unfortunately, it still wasn't him.

Still, he needed some name until he figured out who he was was. "I am Harry Potter." He shrugged. It would do for now. It connected to a certain fame and celebrity, while disarming a large group of people who might be inclined to hinder him.

It also brought enemies. Dangerous people who hated him and would see him dead. Let them try. He would deal with them as needed. And their master. Smiling darkly, he stated, "Voldemort, I am coming for you."

Oh yes, he could kill as he reveled in the dark anger that filled him suddenly. He-

Tamping down on his anger, he addressed the image in the mirror, "If we're going to be Harry Potter, it's time to start thinking of ourselves _as_ Harry Potter and not some nameless entity."

That earned him a nod. Harry smiled, showing teeth in a wordless snarl. He would deal with his enemies, Riddle and his minions, the old bastard, and anyone else who got in his way-

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a door slamming open and heavy footsteps approaching. A large figure filled the doorway. "Boy! What are you doing out of your room?"

Starting with them. Harry turned to meet the florid face of his uncle who looked as if he was on the verge of a heart attack. Before he could reply, Vernon exclaimed, "It had better not have been any of your freakiness. I won't tolerate any of that from you, bo-"

"Vernon, if you call me boy, or freak, again, I'll gut you like a trout." Harry spoke in calm, measured tones as he threatened the fat tub of lard. And felt just fine. After all, threats aren't the same as actually _doing_ it.

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Vernon Dursley felt himself turn even redder, if that was possible, veins in his neck swelling with blood as rage filled him. How dare the freak threaten him! How dare he! He would put him in his place! He would-

Vernon's eyes spotted a glow emanating from the hand of his nephew. A hand that was fixed in position as to grasp a hold of something. As if to rip something from someone...

Instinctively, Vernon stepped back as his nephew's hand reached towards him. He shouted out, "You can't! You can't use your freakiness except at that freak school of yours! You'll be expelled!"

"And you'll still be dead."

The very calmness of the tone of his nephew's voice scared him even more than the words. They weren't being shouted because feelings and emotions were getting out of hand. He meant every word. Vernon grasped at straws. "You need a stick for that! You don't have your stick! It's locked up!"

His nephew raised that glowing hand and brought it to within inches of Vernon's face, almost having to stand on his tip toes to do so. He spoke softly, "A wand? You think I need a _wand_ to do magic? Fool. It's merely a focus to make the magic stronger, more efficient. I think my magic is strong enough even without a wand. I'll even bet I can use this to open you up just like I opened the locks on the door to my room. Care to take my wager?"

Vernon felt enormous pressure on his bladder at that moment and it was all he could do not to piss himself. He had a feeling that his future was being decided and he could barely breath for the fear he felt. Slowly, carefully, he shook his head, the disappointed look in the freak's eyes stopping him from breathing entirely. It wasn't until he spoke that Vernon could breath again.

"No? Too bad. It would have been _fun_."

Vernon took a step back as his lungs clawed for air. He froze at the frown on the freak's face. But all he did was talk. "I wasn't kidding about that. Use either of those terms again towards me and you will wish you were dead. Ignore me instead. I fully intend to ignore you."

Vernon managed to stutter out. "Y-your c-chores..."

"No."

Vernon felt helpless rage infuse him as he stared at the slight figure before him. By rights, he should be able to break him in two. How dare he-

"I dare, Muggle, because I can. After all, might makes right, isn't that how you really feel? That the strong should control the weak?"

Staring into his nephew's eyes, Vernon felt a creeping horror as he realized the freak could read minds. How-

'It's not mind reading, Vernon. But you are practically shouting your thoughts for everyone to hear. Be glad I don't punish you for what you're calling me in your mind. Don't worry, I won't. However, we do need to talk."

Vernon nodded slowly, his guts churning from the fear he felt. Then the freak's words surprised him.

"I'm leaving soon, Vernon, and I won't be coming back. Two weeks, tops. You'll never see me again."

Vernon felt a wave of relief go through him at the boy's words. He was leaving! He felt like dancing a jig, but felt it was better to conceal how he really felt. It wouldn't do to let the boy know how he felt about hi-

"Oh, I know. Here's a little secret. I feel the same about you. But don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to you. I won't have to."

Vernon's elation turned to dread at the freak's words. What did he mean?

"When I go, the wards which have protected us all since I arrived, will disappear. People will be able to find this place. _Wizards_ will be able to find this place. Including the followers of Voldemort, who blame me for their master's death. You have some time, a month, or if you're lucky and they've gotten lazy, maybe until next summer. But they will eventually check yet again to see if they can find this place. When they do, they will come here. Whoever's here will be tortured and killed."

Vernon felt terrified and angry at the same time. He needed to talk to Petunia to see how much of a threat this 'Voldemort' really was. In the meantime, he continued listening to his nephew.

"It's not much of a revenge, I admit. Still, if you're as stubbornly stupid as you've shown in the past, I'll have the pleasure of knowing you're dead. If you sell immediately, you'll lose a lot of the value, unless you get really lucky. And I know how much you value money. Or you can stay and sell it slowly, gambling that you won't be visited in the middle of the night by people who value your life less than a cockroach's. But you'll feel that sense of mounting dread, of knowing your time is running out. And who knows? I might get lucky, and it _will_ run out."

With that, he slipped past Vernon and headed back towards his room. Vernon couldn't hold it any longer and burst out, "I hate you."

The figure in front of him stilled, but did not turn around. Just when Vernon didn't think he was going to reply, he spoke in a low tone, just above a whisper, "I know. Join the club." He walked into his room and closed the door, leaving the hallway to Vernon and his thoughts.

"Petunia! We're selling the house!"

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Harry's smile as he closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a second, held no humor. Rather it was more of a grimace. So the walrus hated him. It wasn't a surprise, he'd always hated him. And the feeling was mutual. Still the words were almost like a blow. It was odd. He shouldn't be that soft. If he were going to rule, he needed to be harder, crueler, and far more vicious.

But ruling didn't hold the allure that it once had. It felt like something that someone else had wanted, not him. As a matter of fact, it felt rather like slaughtering the walrus; it was fun to contemplate, but actually doing it wasn't something he'd consider.

Something was wrong with him. And he had a sneaking suspicion what it was. He hadn't destroyed the boy when he'd erupted from the scar like an attacking army. He- Harry had been much too clever. Rather than resist and lose, he'd given up and become part of him. That was why he could barely stand to even contemplate the things he'd done. Dear Merlin! He had a _conscious._

Worse, he had feelings for someone. Strong feelings. And those feelings were returned. Of that, he was certain. The Harry he had been before hadn't seen it, but then, he was blind to the motivations of others. He, on the other hand, could see quite a bit. There were so many things he was going to have to examine when he found time, like the old bastard, that red-headed family, and the situation with his title and fortune. And that damnable _girl._

But right now, he needed food, he needed rest, and he needed to deal with his sad wasted body. Well, the first should be easy enough. After all, he knew someone who wanted so badly to help him.

In a clear, concise tone, Harry called, "Dobby."

In an instant the excitable elf was in front of him. "Master Harry Potter, Sir! What can Dobby be doing for yous to-"

Dobby flinched a little as he seemed to finally get his first look at the 'new' Harry Potter. Tentatively, he spoke, "Master? Is Sir well?"

Harry gave him a fierce grin that made Dobby flinch again. Dobby's huge eyes were focused intently on Harry's face as if he could see something different there. Perhaps he could. House Elves were notorious for being incredibly sensitive to certain magics. For all he knew, Dobby could see the blending. Well, time to work on the elf. In an assured tone, Harry said, "Dobby, I have never felt better. Except I am starving. Could you get me some food?" He gave the elf a charming smile to cement the request.

There was a hesitant answering smile on Dobby's face as he spoke, "Yes, Master Harry Potter, Sir, Dobby can get yous food. What would yous like?"

Harry thought about it, then said, "Sandwiches. Roast beef. Chips. Milk and apple juice to drink. Oh, and treacle tart for dessert." What the hell? Had he actually asked for treacle tart? Since when had he liked _that_?

Dobby didn't waste any time. With a snap of his fingers, he was gone. When he returned a few minutes later, it was with a table and chair, a large tray of sandwiches with the bread soft and fragrant and the roast beef still steaming, a large platter of crispy chips, a gallon pitcher of both apple juice and milk, another large tray of treacle tarts, and all of the various utensils, even to a snowy white napkin for Harry.

Harry scrambled into the chair and grabbed a sandwich while pouring himself a glass of milk with a gesture. As he started to take a bite, he glanced at the watching elf. Impatient, he called, "What are you waiting for? Dig in."

Dobby's eyes filled with tears as Harry tried to figure out why he would ask a House Elf to join him. Was he mad? While he was contemplating his sanity, Dobby burst out with, "It is yous, Master Harry Potter, Sir! No one else could be so noble and kind to Dobby. Yous treats Dobby as a person."

Against his will, an involuntary smile crept across Harry's face. "You are a person, Dobby. Not being human doesn't make you not a person. Only being a monster does that. Now join me. Please."

Happily, Dobby nodded vigorously and conjured an extra chair, taller than Harry's. As he loaded a plate that appeared out of thin air, Dobby timidly asked, "Is there something that Dobby can do for Master Harry Potter, Sir after we eats? Dobby wants to help."

Harry's green eyes seemed to almost glow with an inner light as he finished swallowing a large bite. Taking a sip of the deliciously cold milk, he said, "Oh Dobby, you are going to be a huge help to me. Of that, I promise."

"For now, let's eat. When we're done, I'll explain exactly what I need you to do, my friend." Madness. Friends with a House Elf. But Harry couldn't deny the warm feeling he got inside at the nod and trusting smile he received from Dobby. No, denial would be foolish. And Harry Potter was no fool.

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	3. Chapter Three—The List

**Chapter Three—The List**

**AN:** This chapter is pretty much a mirror of life as there is basically no dialogue. Dialogue will return in Chapter Four as Harry interacts with the outside world again. Now, onto the story.

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Harry needed to accomplish a great deal in the next two months, and he had precious little time to do it. During a break from ward deconstruction, he wrote out a list of Things to Do, in order of increasing importance.

1) Her

2) Riddle

3) Wards

4) Health/eyesight

5) Empowerment

6) Spells

7) Inheritance

8) Living Arrangements

9) Allies

10) Purchases

11) Changing Electives

Harry perused the list and decided it was more or less complete. He could have provided a lot more details, but was reluctant to in the event it fell into the hands of someone else. Harry smiled in amusement at his foresight.

One thing that had extremely evident since his awakening was that he was thinking a great deal more clearly. Not in an intelligence way, although Harry suspected he'd give Riddle a run for his money now, but rather lacking in the arrogance and madness that had required him to make plans that were virtually destined for failure. Some of the things that he remembered Riddle doing now had him shaking his head in sheer disbelief. The silly bastard was nuttier than a fruitcake, while Harry was completely sane. A bit desperate, but sane.

But for now, Riddle was irrelevant and he needed to focus on his list. Propping his head up on his hands as he looked up the ceiling, Harry thoughtfully considered each of the items on his list. Or at least _tried_ to. Number one had Harry shying away and cursing himself as he acted just like that damnable Riddle, ie mad as a hatter. Still, he was unable to face dealing with _her_ right at this moment. She occupied enough of his thoughts already. Harry didn't need her taking up the rest of them. No, he'd skip her for now.

Number two had Harry spinning his wheels. He couldn't do anything about Riddle until he completed the rest of the list. Even then, he was limited in how much time he had to deal with Riddle's Horcruxes. Riddle himself was yet another issue. Harry would need to find him, or better yet, let Riddle find him, then he could deal with him in a more or less permanent manner. But Riddle was likely still disembodied, unless he's found one of his followers willing to allow him to possess them. From what Harry remembered of their survival instincts, it was unlikely that any off them would sacrifice themselves for their master. Of course, Riddle could be going the route of becoming a homunculus, which had both advantages and disadvantages. Harry wouldn't have gone that route, but what was left of Riddle was mad as a hatter. He might choose that route, and if Trelawney's prophecy was accurate, Pettigrew would be with him to take care of him. Ultimately, that just made things neater, since Harry was going to kill them both.

Harry also needed to thin down the ranks of Riddle's Death Eaters. That was something he was definitely was planning for later in the summer. He had the keys to the ward schemes of every one of Riddle's followers. So long as none of the idiots had gotten smart and changed them, Harry should be able to penetrate them. A humorous thought struck him. So long as he was careful, Riddle's followers should think that it was Riddle who was after them. It was poetic justice in a way. Harry smiled as he realized both he and his conscious were fine with executing murderers. He'd leave alive anyone without the Dark Mark. Fortunately, Harry knew everyone who had one as Riddle was still too busy playing apparition to mark anyone since his return.

Snape and Malfoy were two of the ones he was most looking forward to dealing with. Malfoy for the events of 2nd year where he'd almost caused the rise of Riddle as well as Harry and Ginny Weasley's deaths, and Snape for the betrayal of Harry's parents. And maybe for the way he'd behaved since Harry had arrived at Hogwarts. With a cold smirk, Harry acknowledged that he did carry a grudge. Then he dismissed the thought and got back to his list.

Item number three had Harry grinding his teeth in anger. The wards that Dumbledore had set upon the home of the Dursleys to keep him safe. To be exact, the highly illegal, _vampiric_ blood wards that he'd put in place. Bloody hell, no wonder Harry had difficulty, on occasion, with his magic. It was a wonder that he'd ever used accidental magic at all. Between the binding that had formerly been on his magic and the vampiric blood wards that siphoned off what little magic remained, Harry had a surprising small amount of magic left for himself. If a Death Eater had broken in while Harry's magic was still bound, wand or no wand, he would have been lucky to have been able to cast a tickling hex.

Harry had needed to break the wards himself to get them down. An event that was being made surprising simple because the old bastard had keyed them off of _him_. He'd likely done it so that in the unlikely event that they were discovered, he could feign ignorance of them. Plus the old Harry wouldn't have figured it in a million years. He was a bit thick that way. Harry reminded himself not to underestimate Dumbledore. He was a right crafty old bastard and had his fingers in a myriad of pies. And he was careful, too.

But it wouldn't matter as far as the wards were concerned. Because he was the ward's master. Harry could gut them, disguising them from Dumbledore's instruments, while at the same time, tying all of the tracking charms to his cousin Dudley. They would work for as long as Harry needed, showing him in good health for rest of the summer, then breaking down once school started. Harry trusted his own magical skills to be able to prevent being retagged. As far as the old bastard taking him to task, he'd pretty much ignore him until he could figure out a way to get emancipated and to secure his heritage.

Item number four was a bugger. How they had let him come to school looking like he was a death camp survivor was beyond Harry. Dumbledore was clearly trying to keep him weak for reasons of his own, but Harry suspected it had something to do with the piece of Riddle's soul that had formerly occupied his scar. But regardless, he was left to deal with the fall out of a failing body.

Okay, to be fair, it wasn't failing, but it was pathetically weak. Luckily, Harry was young enough that growth and nutritional potions _should_ repair the damage. He'd get several inches back, up to whatever his potential growth to this point was. And since his father topped six feet and his mother was 5'8", Harry had a good chance to come out on the high side of five feet now and ultimately top six once he was fully grown.

The only drawback was that it was going to hurt like hell. Bones, tendons, ligaments, and muscles would be lengthening, and not always at an even pace. Harry would also be more than a bit clumsy for a few weeks, while enjoying bouts of intense pain off and on. Eventually everything would even out and he'd be fine. Until then, Harry would hurt. A lot. His healer should be able to provide him with more details.

Of course, Harry needed to find a private healer in Diagon Alley, wanting to stay away from St Mungo's, since someone there would almost certainly leak the news that the Boy-Who-Lived was seeking treatment. It was just a step from there to the old bastard finding out. Luckily, he had Dobby to help with that. He was currently scouting out healers and would make an appointment for Harry for tomorrow with the best one.

Afterwards, Harry would need to start a regimen of physical fitness. Because of the disparity in magical power between he and Riddle, he needed to conserve every last bit of magical power he possessed to be used only when absolutely necessary. To do so meant being able to dodge every spell sent his way he possibly could, a daunting task requiring lightning fast reflexes and incredible conditioning. Oddly, Harry had the reflexes, being as fast as Riddle or even a bit faster, even after all of the enhancement rituals the crazy bugger had been involved in. He'd been immensely pleased with the speed with which his wand had flown from his holster into his hand over and over again. However, Harry had been less than pleased with how quickly he'd become winded when pushing himself hard. He could work long hours doing his chores, but he couldn't move with speed or intensity for any great length of tiime. Sadly, nor could he see his targets that well once he had his wand out.

Which brought Harry to his eyesight. With even the Muggles having access to repairing weak vision, there was no excuse for Dumbledore not having Harry's eyesight fixed. So what if it was expensive? Harry could certainly afford it, remembering the sheer amount of gold in just his trust vault. Worse, why the school mediwitch, Madame Pomfrey, hadn't dealt with Harry's eyes or his poor health was simply inconceivable. Had Dumbledore hexed her? Or was she that venial? Remembering the warm smiles and simple competency that she'd displayed during his first and second years, when he'd been in and out of the hospital wing often, Harry suspected the former. He knew a few spells that could work that way, although they were very dark, nearly as bad as the Imperius Curse. If Harry was lucky, the same healer that Dobby located to take care of his health could also take care of his eyes. If not, doubtless they could recommend someone reliable.

Now onto item number five. After he dealt with his health, Harry needed to figure some method of increasing his magical strength, which meant an empowerment ritual of one kind or another. When he had contrasted the amount of magical strength available to him compared to his memories of Riddle, he'd felt horrified. If Harry faced a reborn Riddle anytime soon, he would die, swatted aside like a bug. Surprisingly, by his own estimate, he was strong for his age, although he couldn't be absolutely sure until he got the vampiric wards off of him. Then Harry could get a true gauge of his strength. In the meantime, he needed to figure out a spell or ritual that he could do once he was healthy and knew his base magical strength.

Unfortunately, almost all of the rituals that Harry remembered required things that he didn't think he was okay with. The best required sacrificing thirteen virgin witches each full moon for a year, deflowering them first, then devouring each completely before the next sacrifice. If followed correctly, the ritual could quadruple the power of the wizard doing it. However, he definitely was not okay with that ritual. As his gorge rose, Harry acknowledged that even Riddle hadn't wanted to execute that one, although only because of the time required. He hadn't cared about the lives of the victims involved.

A myriad of similar rituals sped though Harry's mind: power stealing, life stealing, blood stealing. Babies sacrificed on the dark of the moon to hideous things that couldn't stand any form of light. Each and every one was dark and horrific and each and every one was something that Harry wouldn't do. But he needed to do _something_. If he was to keep himself and _her_ alive, he couldn't shy away from any path that increased his chances to do so. However, it was thoughts about her that brought a far different ritual to the forefront of Harry's mind. Harry tapped his chin as he considered it.

The ritual he was thinking of wasn't actually an empowerment ritual. Rather it was a form of sex magic, a ritual to demonstrate "True Love." The ritual entwined two souls and the resulting feedback in their magic could as much as triple the magical cores of both parties involved. Of course, if you made the slightest mistake in the ritual, that same feedback could completely destroy you as well. And to say the requirements were stringent was the same as saying the Atlantic Ocean was wet. And you needed a partner, in his case a female.

Harry smiled thinly thinking about Sacrificio Rite Amoris. He also thought about _her_. It would certainly kill two birds with one stone. And if it didn't work, he would be too busy being blown all over half of Britain to worry about the results of the spell. If he played it right, she wouldn't be at any risk, so long as he maintained the role of the petitioner and the lover. They didn't need to be the same person and usually weren't, so as to reduce the risk to just one party from the ritual.

Harry laughed darkly. Yeah, like the ritual he was so casually contemplating was something used every day. It hadn't been attempted in nearly three hundred years. Since the last four couples who tried it had died violently while invoking it, it had fallen in disfavor to say the least. Of course, one reason it had such a failure rate lay in the ages of the petitioners.

The combined ages of the petitioners could not be more than thirty, while the youngest partner had to have not yet reached their fourteenth birthday. You combine that with the dietary restrictions leading up to it, the rune work, and the intensity of the emotions needed, and you had a difficult and dangerous ritual, almost guaranteed to fail. Worse, just as Harry was intending, both parties were usually in the same age range, making it even less likely to be successfully invoked. Still, Harry could see a path to success. And it was the best choice since it was the _only_ choice.

Now it was time for item number six. Harry wasn't sure if it even needed to be on the list. However, in some ways, his increased knowledge worried him immensely. Harry needed to be incredibly careful not to allow Dumbledore to know what had occurred with his scar. One easy way to give himself away was to show too much advanced knowledge too soon. Harry planned to mitigate this somewhat by having his nose in a book every second he wasn't in class or playing Quidditch. He'd get his friends to help him with that as well. It would serve double duty by also getting Harry used to a lower level of spells that Riddle hadn't used in more than four decades. It wasn't as if he was going to need to cast a Wave of Darkness at Hogwarts, but a shielding spell better than the basic one taught there would probably come in handy. And be far more age appropriate, even if it made Harry seem somewhat precocious. It appeared to be the best solution to the potential problem.

Which made him move onto item number seven. Harry needed some way to take control of his inheritance. He needed to be emancipated as an true adult if at all possible, so that he could take over control of the House of Potter. Not only would it mean control over large amounts of money, but he would also control his House's two seats in the Wizengamot, a political advantage. Unfortunately, this was one area where Harry had no real idea how to begin. Riddle hadn't shown a great deal of interest in all of the machinations of politics, preferring to use Malfoy to accomplish his ends. And even if he had, there was zero chance he would have cared about this type of power transfer. Still, Harry used what little knowledge he had to work out a solution.

If he were even two years older, Harry could take control in a month as current laws allowed a heir with no older male relatives to assume their Head of House at age sixteen, instead of the accepted age of adulthood, seventeen. Otherwise, there didn't seem to be a path, as even a regular emancipation did not allow one to become Head of House. It was also likely that the old bastard would fight him tooth and nail if he tried to become emancipated. In olden times, doing epic feats such as killing a dragon that was terrorizing a village or winning a magical contest like the Tri-Wizard Tournament would give one their lordship as you would automatically be considered an adult by accomplishing the act. But with all dragons on reserves and the tournament being discontinued more than two hundred years ago, in 1792, Harry was out of luck.

Harry guessed he could always go find a Nundu to kill, but since even Riddle at the height of his power wasn't crazy enouh to commit suicide that way, he didn't think he would do so either. Too bad the basilisk couldn't count, but Dumbledore, foxy as ever, had sworn all involved to an oath of silence for seven years. Harry wasn't sure that he'd still be alive in seven years, so that put paid to that. He'd also already be an adult by that time. Possibly an adult corpse, he thought bitterly.

However, thinking about the basilisk made Harry wonder why he'd never thought to sell the remains. Even after lying down there and decaying for more than a year, what was left should be worth half a million galleons or more. So long as he didn't tell where the remains came from, he wouldn't be in abrogation of his oath. Smiling now, Harry felt at that at least he would have money to spare in case the old bastard tried to cut off access to his trust vault. He'd need to contact the Goblins about buying the basilisk's corpse, as he could be fairly certain they wouldn't ask questions.

Which brought him to number seven, a place to live. It _should_ be easy. Harry figured that he could persuade the Goblins to allow him keys to any one of a number of his family's properties, likely locked down and requiring one of Potter blood to open. From the property, Harry should be able to contact the Potter elves. If so, he would be able to use them in a myriad of ways, one of the first of which would be to find out how the rest of the Potter properties were doing. If for some reason Harry couldn't contact them, he still had Dobby to help him. Dobby could potentially be a busy little elf, Harry thought fondly. Then he frowned.

There was that thing again. That sense of egalitarianism. It was driving him to the edge. For the life of him, Harry could not figure how someone with either of his upbringings could be a kind and forgiving person. While he considered Riddle a coward and a whiner, he didn't think that much better of the old Harry, who was a weakling at best. Of course if that were true, what did that make _him_, Harry thought with acid amusement. For his own sake, he could only hope he was greater than the sum of his parts. If not, he would fail and die, leaving those who depended upon him in the lurch.

Harry sighed. That last thought was exactly the problem he was talking about. Damn sense of nobility and responsibility. Well, either he'd get over it or he wouldn't. Compared to actually surviving, it was a fading concern, although he still wasted far too much thought on the subject. He didn't need to psychoanalyze himself. He existed. And he would continue to do so no matter what. He'd bring fire and death down upon anyone who threatened him. He would survive. Harry ignored a tiny voice inside of him that said 'what a lonely existence.' Clamping down on his own treacherous thoughts, Harry focused once again on his list.

It was item number nine, allies. Harry needed allies. Allies within Gryffindor, allies within Hogwarts, and allies within the political houses were all a necessity. Fortunately, he had some ideas along those lines. Neville Longbottom, heir to House Longbottom, would fulfill all three requirements. Contrasting the chubby boy, who had unsuccessfully tried to stop Harry and his friends from going after the Sorcerer's Stone 1st year with his parents, who had fought Riddle to a standstill three times, Harry knew that there was a mystery to be solved. Neville should be a formidable ally. Perhaps he just needed to be taken under Harry's wing. And a new wand, he thought, remembering the wand Neville had used since first year. The wood was maple, but he didn't know the core. From its battered appearance, it was probably one of his parents' wands, likely his father, knowing Augusta Longbottom. She'd likely filled Neville's head with all sorts of rubbish, but Harry would sort him out.

Other resources within his house were his fellow Quidditch team members, as well as any members of the Harry Potter Fan Club that existed. Harry wasn't above using whatever method he could to get someone on his side. The other houses were more problematical, but rich in resources. And full of female members of the club, Harry thought with amusement. He would likely need all the allies he could get, as he considered the other houses. Hufflepuff with the Abbotts, the Bones, the Diggorys, the Macmillans, and more. Susan Bones could give him access to her aunt, the head of the DMLE. Ravenclaw with the Turpins, the Changs, the Davies, and the Edgecombes. Marietta Edgecombe gave him access to her mother, a well-connected member of the Ministry. Harry considered his potential allies carefully. Many of the girls could be brought over through sheer charm and charisma, remembering another boy who had done so. Alliances with their houses could be arranged, although he refused to dangle a marriage alliance in front of any of them. Harry already had someone in mind for that position. The men just needed a bit of research into what they wanted, then the best approach could be made. A wish granted here, a favor there, it was a path he could walk blindfolded with the houses of the brave, loyal, and intelligent.

Which left Slytherin House. Within Slytherin, favors were traded for status and control to an extent that was foreign to the other houses. Who you were was more important than what you accomplished, although doing either without subtlety or ambition was frowned upon, a major source of friction with Gryffindor. Ordinarily, no Gryffindor could expect to gain allies and influence with the House of the Snakes. But Harry was no ordinary Gryffindor. Besides, he was going to cheat. Harry was going to use a key in his possession to the lock of Slytherin House. They would never even see him coming, he thought with a dangerous smirk.

It was time for the last two items on his list, ten and eleven. He wasn't enamored at the idea of shopping, but was necessary. Harry needed to purchase a number of items, as well as remove a couple of items from the Potter vault. Books, clothes, a new trunk, were all on his list. From the Potter vault, he needed a few items of jewelry and any family portraits he could find. It was all part of his long term plans which he refused to think about just now.

Lastly, Harry needed to write to Professor McGonagall to change his electives for the coming year. He would no longer waste time in Divination or Care of Magical Creatures. Instead, he would move to Runes and Arithmancy, two classes that Riddle had excelled at and for which Harry was more than prepared. Likely he would have to take a test to get in, but he was counting on both his fame and Professor McGonagall's disdain for Divination to pave the way. After all, it was hard to say no when the Boy-Who-Lived asked for a reasonable favor that fell in line with your own prejudices.

With that, Harry laid his head back on his lumpy pillow and concentrated once again on tracing the lines for each of the attachments that the Warding had upon his person. It would take all of today to finish tying them off to basically nothing, while their magical charge bled away into the aether. Once done, Harry had tonight to finish removing all of the tracking charms both from his person and from the wards. He'd reattach where necessary to his cousin, Dudley, otherwise, he'd merely adjust the charm to send a false positive. Harry so looked forward to the old bastard's reaction when he realized what had happened. It was a prank worthy of the Marauders. It was also the beginning of the end of Dumbledore's influence on him. Soon he would be free. Free to take control of his life. Free to execute his plans.

Harry focused his mind, using an Occulmancy exercise to rid himself of stray thoughts. After all, he needed to finish this today. Tomorrow was his visit to the Diagon Alley healer that Dobby had found for him, as well as his visit with the Goblins of Gringotts. Harry would need his wits about him for both visits. Oh yes, he would need his wits if he were to triumph.

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	4. Chapter Four—Of Banks and Bankers

**Chapter Four—Of Banks and Bankers**

**AN:** This chapter's a bit longer at just over four thousand words. I expect them to get longer still, but will try to cap them at or around 5k words.

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Harry slipped out the door in the predawn darkness. The sun wouldn't rise for a few more minutes yet. He wanted an early start if he was to be at Gringotts before his appointment with his healer. Raising his wand, he summoned the Knight Bus, which arrived with a flash and a bang, nearly hitting him. But as always, it just missed. Harry couldn't help remembering the year before, when he'd gone flying backwards. But not now. Not anymore.

Stan, the conductor, stared down at him. "Why, it's Nev'lle Longb'ttom hisself. How'rs going Nev'lle? Ernie, say 'ello to Nev'lle."

Eyes made huge behind spectacles stared at Harry. "Oy!"

"Where to, Nev?"

Harry, amused despite himself, said, "Diagon Alley."

Stan did a quick calculation. "That'll be thirteen sickles. For another six, I can get you a hot chocolate or a tooth brush."

Harry shook his head. "Just the ride, Stan."

After handing off the money, he braced himself on a bed, grimly hanging on for dear life s the bus moved with starts and stops, hinks and jinks. After several minutes, it finally arrived at its destination. Harry slipped off after saying his goodbyes and walked up to the Leaky Cauldron. Walking through, he sneered at the decrepit appearance. You'd think Tom would clean it at least once a decade. Instead it looked the same as it did more than fifty years ago.

At least nothing had change in the patterns of bricks. Harry tapped them, and once they'd unfolded, walked through into Diagon Alley. Very few were stirring, which was to his liking. There was only the slightest hint of light in the east as he ascended the steps to Gringotts. Glancing at the creed over the door, Harry thought grimly of the last idiot who'd tried to steal from them.

With a last glance and a nod to the guards, Harry walked through the doors. Even though he was dressed in little more than rags, he walked like a king. After all, it was the attitude that conveyed your importance. At least that was what he'd always believed.

Instead of directly approaching the nearest Goblin and demanding to see his account manager, Harry paused in consideration. Tom Riddle had never been treated with one tenth of the courtesy that Harry Potter had received from the Goblins. The contrast in their approaches couldn't be more diametrically opposite. Harry, polite and gracious, self-effacing even, versus Tom Riddle, the epitome of a Pureblood, all arrogance and entitlement. No, he knew the right approach here.

Harry walked up to the nearest Goblin and waited patiently to be acknowledged. The Goblin continued working for over a minute, but finally said, "What do you need?"

Harry gave a very slight bow, and briskly said, "Harry Potter to see the Potter Family Account Manager."

The Goblin's brows went up. In a slightly more friendly tone, he said, "I am Manager Snagtooth. Who is your family's account manager."

"I do not know, sir. I have never received any correspondence from Gringotts. I was told by a friend that there should be a family account here in my name. So I came here to speak to someone about profit."

Snagtooth frowned. "Bad business. Never received a statement of your account. Yes, yes, profit." He dug through a series of cards in a Rolodex on his desk and finally found what he was looking for. "You need Account Manager Grimjaw. Wait there and I will have him summoned." He pointed at a hard wooden chair and Harry nodded and went to sit down.

That had gone well. Just the right mix of no nonsense speech mixed with a little courtesy. How wizards couldn't understand that it took only a few small things to appease a Goblin, Harry didn't know. Then again, Riddle had always behaved like an idiot around them as well. Worse, he hadn't known better, acting out of ignorance and arrogance. No wonder he'd failed.

It wasn't a short wait, but still, no more than a half hour passed before another figure, more richly dressed appeared. It was a good sign that they weren't deliberating keeping him waiting.

The short, fierce-looking Goblin asked, "Harry Potter? I am Grimjaw. Come with me."

The walk was short and ended in an large but still crowded office. Grimjaw gestured to a chair. "Have a seat. Mr Potter." Sitting down he place his hands together in a steepled position, fingers intertwined, and fixed Harry with a cold stare. Harry bore the look stoically. It might have intimidated him if he hadn't seen the things he had, but in the grand scheme of things, it didn't even rate a one.

Finally after a couple of minutes of this, Harry reasonably pointed out, "Are we going to discuss profit or would you rather sit there and try to intimidate me?"

For just a moment, Harry thought Grimjaw was going to come over the desk at him. Instead, he grated out, "For all of your talk of profit, you have wasted our time and given grave insult to the Goblin Nation."

The arrogance of the reply infuriated him, but even more than angry, Harry was perplexed. He could think of nothing that he'd done to insult the Goblins. He'd even done his best to adhere to their cultural prejudices. He hadn't been treated this way the last time he'd visited either. Tamping down on his anger so as to avoid a mistake, Harry stated, "I think that you need to explain exactly what I have done and how that insults the Goblins."

"Ignorance does not become you, Mr Potter." Grimjaw chided insultingly. "Very well, since your eleventh birthday when you first accessed your accounts, Gringotts has spent a great deal of time and research on scenarios that would prove profitable for both you as an account holder and us as your bank. Yet each time we sent you the details, you have not replied. Instead, you ignore us, leaving money on the table. Wasted our time. _Our_ money. You take the food from our children's mouths and wonder how you have wronged us."

Harry slowly clapped his hands together. "Bravo. That was a nice speech. A little heavy-handed with the 'children's mouths' comment, but overall, quite nice. I have never received a single piece of correspondence from Gringotts. Snagtooth should have told you. You're wasting time and profit with this approach."

Grimjaw looked like he was chewing rocks. "I heard Snagtooth. But I do not believe you."

Harry shrugged. "I can't help that. Surely you have a way to test the truth? Wizards have Veritaserum. What do Goblins have?" Harry knew there was something, but couldn't for the life of him remember what.

For the first time, Grimjaw looked interested. He leaned forward and placed his chin on his steepled fingers. His eyes glittering, he said, "We do have a way. Are you, as a wizard, willing to be so tested?"

Harry swallowed. He wasn't afraid, but wariness in this situation was completely warranted. "Will I be physically injured by the test? Will my mind be impaired? Will it hurt?"

Deliberately, Grimjaw replied, "No. No. Yes."

Harry shrugged. "Then bring on your test. Pain is inconsequential. I would have your belief."

In response, Grimjaw picked up a small bell and shook it briefly. Another Goblin arrived and they conferred a moment. With a single glance of surprise at Harry, the other Goblin departed. He returned shortly wearing thick leather gloves and bearing an object that he sat down on the desk in front of Harry. The object was a thick slab of pink-hued granite, that seemed to almost pulse with an inner light. Harry could feel it pressing against his Occulmancy shields even from two feet away.

"The item in front of you, Mr Potter, is Heartstone. Heartstone will not hear lies. It will seek out the truth and test you while doing so. You will not be able to lie while touching it. It will accept no half truths or prevarications. Be brief and complete in your answers. I caution you this: Do not take your hand from the Heartstone until you are done."

Harry nodded. "I understand. I do, however, have one condition. You can only ask me five questions,"

Grimjaw showed his teeth. "Agreed. So the bargain is made. Place your hand on the Heartstone."

Harry reached out his hand and confidently placed it on the rock. The resulting pain, a combination shock and a searing sensation, nearly brought him out of his chair. Harry also nearly removed his hand from the rock. Only by sheer willpower did he stop himself. Grimjaw noted his expression and nodded with satisfaction.

"First question. Did you receive any correspondence from Gringotts since your first visit after you turned eleven?"

Through gritted teeth, Harry replied. "No, I did not."

"Do you know why you have not received correspondence from Gringotts?"

Harry started to reply to the negative, when he found he could not speak. At the same time, the sensation of pain increased. _Heartstone will not hear lies._ Harry was starting to understand what that meant. Blinking away tears of pain, he said, "I think it is to deny me my heritage and to keep me weak."

"Why would someone want to keep you weak?"

Harry didn't think he was going to get out of answering the question as he felt the pain increase again. His other hand was trembling in his lap as he thought as quickly as possible. "A prophecy predicted that I would be the one to face Voldemort. He was never killed. The prophecy is still in effect. By being weak, I, the person of prophecy, can be controlled."

"Who is behind this plot?"

That at least was an easy answer. There was no increase to the nerve searing pain as Harry said, "Albus Dumbledore."

Grimjaw sat there contemplatively. His anger appeared to have abated, but there was still something to be cautious of in his eyes. Harry mentally urged him to hurry and ask the last question. His hand was being torn asunder while he waited.

Grimjaw nodded. "You speak the truth. The insults are not yours. There is but one last, trivial question. You feel 'odd' to Gringotts' wards, different from when first you entered." A pause. "If you are not Harry Potter, who are you?"

Harry's eyes widened as pain seared through him. Worse than the Cruciatus. Worse than Fiendfyre. It felt as if he were dying in agony and being reborn the same. Desperately, he tried to speak. The words would not come. _Heartstone will not hear lies._ He tried to remove his hand from the Heartstone, but it clung there as if a Permanent Sticking Charm had been applied.

Harry fancied that he could smell meat being seared as tears ran down his face. He tried to grasp his wand with his left hand, but his fingers scrabbled uselessly at his pocket. He could not reach inside. Names ran through his head. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Lord Voldemort. Harry Tom Potter. Tom James Potter. Harry Tom Riddle. Tom Marvelo Potter. Lord Pottermort. Dark Lord Potter.

Harry couldn't breath. The pain seemed to have shut off his lungs. Black spots swam in his vision. His head swelled to bursting. If he could have spoken, he would have screamed, but a rictus gripped his chest. I will not die again, he screamed in his mind. I will not! I have too much to do!

He remembered the battle for his body as he searched for clues. He remembered...

_I am you._

No. No! _No! _You are not me! I am... I am... I... A whisper...

_I am you._

Harry could no longer see as he battled for himself. No more weakness. No more victim. I will never surrender. I will never give up. I will not be broken. I-

_I am you._

What was willpower to inevitability? What did courage and heart mean to a concept? He was and he would be. Always and forever. Death was no bar to truth. Only fear tried to hide from it, to escape into the dark. Only fear.

_I am you._

For a moment, he wondered if he'd left it too late, if his closed lungs would doom him to death and defeat. But then, just a fraction of the pressure crushing him eased, and an infinitely precious breath reached his lungs. With the last of his strength, he whispered, "I am Harry James Potter."

And just like that, the pain was gone. Harry snatched his hand from the Heartstone as his stomach rebelled. Dimly he heard Grimjaw speak, "Congratulations, Harry Potter, you have passed the test." Harry's only reply was the regurgitation of his breakfast all over the floor next to his seat.

Grimjaw stood up and said, "I'll leave you for a moment to freshen up." With that, he walked out.

Harry laborously straightened. That bloody son of a bitch, he thought grimly. He'd been played for a fool by a Goblin. After a moment, his face broke out in a grim smile. He could see the humor in the situation. His arrogance had been turned back upon him by a 'mere' Goblin. Deliberately, Harry avoided the revelations he'd been given. He'd think more on that later.

Instead, Harry vanished the mess on the floor and on his shirt. He cast a Breath Freshening Charn on his mouth. Conscious of the sweat that covered his body and moistened his clothes, Harry concentrated a moment, then released his will. For second, his skin stung as if freshly scrubbed and he was spotlessly clean, even to his ratty sneakers. It was an old spell that had gone out of fashion when fresh water for bathing became widely available. Still, it was very effective for long periods of time.

Harry was sitting, relaxed, when Grimjaw came back in. The Goblin sat back down at his desk. Gone was most of the stiffness from earlier. "What can Gringotts do for you, Mr Potter?"

Harry'd had time to figure out exactly what he wanted and stated it now. "I need access to my family vaults. I want to be able to remove certain items, books, paintings, furnishings, and jewelry, as well as access the finds therein."

Grimjaw sat back. "I see. Is that all?"

Harry looked him in the eye. "I would like to discuss the scenarios whereby we can both profit."

Grimjaw nodded. "Unfortunately, Mr Potter, all of that is out of the question."

Harry almost drew his wand as a surge of rage went through him. He counted to ten, and then did it again, as he tried to control his anger. Finally, when he could speak without shouting, he said, "Why not? Isn't this what you wanted?"

"True. But I have come into additional information since then."

It was pulling teeth, Harry thought. "What information?"

Grimjaw showed his teeth. "When you first came in, I was under the impression that as the last of the Potters, you had received partial control of your inheritance, as is customary. It was so noted in your file. However, in light of the information you revealed, I checked again. Your magical guardian did not release this to you. Consequently, I cannot act with you."

"My magical guardian? Dumbledore, right?"

"Exactly so."

"Merlin's bloated left ball!" The old bastard was a step ahead of him again. Harry cursed Dumbledore with all of his heart and soul.

"I am surprised you are so upset, Mr Potter."

Harry stared the Goblin in the eye, wondering what color his blood would be. After a moment, he was able to speak with a semblance of calm. "And why is that, Grimjaw?"

"I would think you'd be grateful that I did not allow you to go down to your vaults. Without the permissions of the bank, Potter or no, you would have died a painful and horrific death."

"There's nothing frightening about death, Grimjaw." I am not Tom Riddle, Harry thought contemptuously. Riddle feared death more than anything. He, on the other hand, did not. He just feared to throw away his life for nothing. Some things, however, were worth dying for.

"Grimjaw, it appears that you and I are at an impasse. I need items in that vault and you cannot allow me access."

"Indeed, Mr Potter."

"I am curious, though. Is it Goblin law that applies here or human?"

Grimjaw stared at him. "Are you implying that we follow human law here, in the heart of our realm, Mr Potter? Weigh your words carefully."

Harry smiled. "I imply nothing. It was merely a question as to what law says I may not have access to my vaults."

Grimjaw still looked prickly as he stated, "Goblin tradition only, but human laws that we choose to honor."

Harry's eyes gleamed. "So you could choose not to honor human law? Since it is tradition only."

"I could, but I won't. You begin to waste my time, Mr Potter."

Harry stated, "Well, we can't have that. It has been most enlightening, Grimjaw." Harry casually drew his wand, and began to twirl it.

Grimjaw looked at him curiously. "Are we not done, Mr Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "Not just yet, Grimjaw. Tell me, are you familiar with the Muggle parable of the Carrot and the Stick?"

Grimjaw frowned. "Of course. It parallels a parable of our own."

"Excellent. Because you see, Grimjaw, I am going to apply it to our situation."

Grimjaw's eyes darkened. "Indeed, Mr Potter. And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that?"

Harry smiled as he leaned back, his wand still twirling slowly. "Well, first, I would tell you that I have access to the corpse of a large basilisk, aged just over a year, that I would share with you and the Goblin Nation."

"Tempting. Very, very, tempting. Such fare is a great delicacy for us. We relish this above all else. And you would part with a portion of this corpse as a gift?"

Harry declared, "I would. I would, indeed."

Grimjaw's eyes glittered with avariciousness. "How large a corpse, Mr Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "Sixty feet."

Grimjaw audibly swallowed. "That is... impressive. How did you come by such a corpse?"

Harry stated, "I cannot tell you the details. I am prevented by oath."

"Would you be willing to part with a third as a gift?"

Harry countered. "I think, rather, that a tenth would be fair."

"Come now, Mr Potter. I suspect that you want us to render the corpse and supervise the sale. A fourth would be more than fair for such a task with the added proviso that it remains a gift, not payment."

Harry shook his head. "Perhaps an eight with rendering included. I concede it is a gift."

"I can't see this as occurring for less than a fifth, Mr Potter. Surely you can agree to that? You ask much in return."

"I do. Will you concede to all of my requests first? I can't help but notice that we have not added these to our agreement." Harry thought the Goblin was trying something.

As it turned out, he was right. Grimjaw spread his hands. "All except the access to the funds in the Potter Vaults I can agree to. Those are Goblin Law and cannot be conceded."

Harry smiled coldly. "So, is it to be an eighth, Grimjaw?"

"A sixth and you may have full access to your trust vault."

Harry countered, "A sixth and full access to my trust vault with no reporting to Dumbledore."

Grimjaw quickly nodded. "Agreed, Mr Potter. Congratulations. You barter like a Goblin."

Harry nodded his appreciation. "Thank you, Grimjaw. I'll be in touch shortly with the details."

"A moment, Mr Potter. You mentioned both a carrot and a stick. Clearly, I have heard the carrot. I was curious what stick you would wield."

Harry shrugged. "it's not important, Grimjaw. We have a bargain."

Grimjaw's eyes gleamed dangerously. "Mr Potter there are those who believe that Goblins are timid creature who hide in deep caverns afraid of the surface. I assure you, we are not. I would know what stick you believe would leverage us. Is it complaining to the Wizard's newspapers? Accusations in front of the Wizengamot?"

Harry shook his head. "None of those. I will make a bargain with you. I will tell you the 'stick' for three questions on the Heartstone."

Grimjaw looked perplexed. "You wish to be tested again?"

Harry chuckled softly. "You misunderstand me. I would ask you three questions on the Heartstone. So weigh the worth of your curiosity carefully."

Several minutes went by as Grimjaw did exactly that. Finally, he nodded. "I agree. I call the price fair." He leaned in. "Now, Mr Potter, tell me of this 'stick.'"

Harry's hand closed on his wand, ready to cast. "It is very simple, Grimjaw. I was going to tell you that if you did not do as I asked, I was first going to kill you, then I was going to kill as many of your people as I could before being struck down in turn."

Grimjaw leaped to his feet, furious. "How dare you? How dare you threaten us in the heart of our power! What madness drives you that you believe that such a ploy would work?"

Harry touched terrible memories. Memories of acts so heinous, he could barely stomach knowing they happened, even if it were the past. He allowed his anger at the old bastard and any others who believed they could control him to fill him like fire until all that he saw burned and peace was a heap of ashes. He turned that gaze towards the capering creature who would challenge him. "I don't fear death. That gives me power, even if only just a fraction, over all of those who do. If you would hesitate even a second to risk all, then I would triumph over you."

Grimjaw flinched at the look in Harry's eyes, then recovered. In a wondering tone, he commented, "You are completely mad. You fear nothing? You will perish all too soon in your pursuit of power."

Harry grinned mirthlessly. "I never said I fear nothing. I merely do not fear death. Muggles back in the second great war said it best. Death is lighter than a feather, duty is heavier than a mountain. And power is not what I pursue."

Grimjaw faltered. "What then, if not power, do you want?"

Harry smiled, a thing of cruelty and cutting edges, as he stared down at the Goblin. Leaning forward, he asked, "And how many questions will you agree to for that answer, Goblin?"

Grimjaw slowly shook his head. "None, Human. Enough of this. Ask your questions. Then we are done."

Harry watched as the Goblin placed his hand upon then Heartstone, betraying the pain he felt by not even the tiniest flinch. Harry savored this payback for just a moment, then asked his first question. "Will the Gringott stand by the bargain made today even after what I just told you?"

"Yes."

"Will I be attacked by any Goblin because of my acts today or in the past?"

"No."

Harry smiled as a rictus of pain formed on Grimjaw's face. Harry wondered if the Goblin wanted to lie and threaten him so that the Heartstone took its pound of flesh.

Harry asked his last question. "Will you or anyone you commission take vengeance upon me for the events of today?"

"No."

For the first time, Harry was truly surprised. He watched as Grimjaw removed his hand from then stone, flexing his fingers. He commented helpfully, "It helps if you imagine strangling the person who asked you the questions while you're doing that."

Grimjaw gave him a strange glance. After a moment, he asked, "Is there anything else, Mr Potter?"

Harry stood, then paused. "I am curious about the answer to my last question. Not enough, mind you, to touch that bloody rock again. But curious."

Grimjaw grimaced. "Why I would not seek vengeance against you, Mr Potter?"

"Exactly."

"I answer this question, Mr Potter, both as a gift and as a warning. I would not seek vengeance against you, because unlike you, I fear death."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I see."

Harry turned to walk away. As he was walking out the door, Grimjaw made one final comment. "I was wrong about one thing, Mr Potter. When I said that you barter like a Goblin? No Goblin would risk what you did today."

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	5. Chapter Five—Thou Shalt See My Scars

**Chapter Five—Thou Shalt See My Scars**

Wearily, Andromeda Tonks placed her head down on her desk. She could feel despair well up within her. She didn't know what she was going to do. Bills were piling up and she had exactly one patient today. One.

When she and her husband Ted had first decided to leave St Mungos and open up a private practice, Andy had been over the moon. The possibilities seemed infinite. Both she and Ted were more than competent healers and there was no scenario where she did not envision them being successful. They were going to make tons of money and ultimately retire in comfort.

And she would be able to throw that success in the face of the Black Family that had disowned her. She would be able to stand in front of any of those Pure Blood cretins and tell them that she, Andromeda Tonks nee Black, mattered. That she didn't need them to be a success. At least that had been the idea.

It had started out easy enough. They'd rented space in a nicely exposed building in the middle of Diagon Alley's medical district. An apothecary was on one side, and a busy medical practice on the other. And they had plenty of funds available to see them through until they, too, built a similar thriving practice.

That was then and this was now. Now was a grim reality of month after month of no patients. Now was dealing with the curse of being a Black and closely resembling one of the War's most heinous villains. Now was the fact, that through no fault of her own, her past was going to destroy her future.

Ted had already left, going back to St Mungos. Andy might have swallowed her pride and followed him, but for one thing. There was no longer a place there for her. She, who had worked at St Mungos since well before the Blood War had started shortly after her initial mediwitch training, had essentially been banned from ever working there again.

Of course, that wasn't what they called it. Not at all. They were downsizing and there were no funds for new staff. They were looking for fresh and younger staff who would bring new energy. Everything and anything had been told to her except the hard truth that no one wanted to work with or be treated by, the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange. The cousin of Sirius Black. Disowned or not.

She had looked to old friends there for help to no avail. Since Andy had first joined St Mungos, a lot of the administrative staff there had turned over. What remained was a mix of Pure Bloods, who didn't want a disgraced member of their circle around, and Muggleborns, who only saw her sister every time they looked at her.

Andy had been aware that the friendliness she'd seen when first she joined St Mungo had faded, but she had merely attributed it to the effects of the war. There had never been anything overt, after all. And if any patients hadn't wanted her treating them, there hadn't been much choice, as she was _the_ authority on magical wounds and injuries. But that wasn't a specialty that translated well to the civilian world as most people didn't get into battles that needed specialized treatment. For the other more ordinary injuries and mishaps, they had plenty of choices as to who treated them.

"Missus Andy, your nine o'clock is here early. Shall I have him wait?"

Andy's head came up at Mimsy's voice. She'd had to let all of her staff go more than three months ago, She only had Mimsy since she was her personal Elf and the only thing she had left of the Blacks. Without her, Andy would have given up long ago.

"No, Mimsy, I'll go ahead and take him now. It's not as if we have any other patients being treated at the moment. Show him into one, please."

Andy stood up and quickly checked her appearance, wishing not for the first time that she had even a hint of her daughter's special ability. But she didn't, so there was no point wasting time and energy on idle daydreams. She grabbed her wand and briskly walked down to Treatment Room One.

Andy opened the door and picked up the clipboard with the patient's information on it. Scanning it quickly as she turned to face her patient, she greeted them. "I'm Healer Andromeda Tonks. I'll be taking care of you Mr..."

Andy's voice trailed off as she read the name. Then she looked up, puzzled, to see the neat blonde hair and blue eyes morph into bright green eyes and messy dark hair. The boy continued for her, "Harry Potter, Healer Tonks. Sorry, but you can never be too careful."

Andy stared at the young boy in front of her who was dressed in virtual rags and had felt the need to come in under a glamor. Well, she could understand the disguise more than the outfit. If she hadn't know the Potters were rich, she would have despaired at receiving her fee for her services. Well, better get to it, she thought briskly. Andy avoided looking at his scar beyond one quick glance. He looked like he badly needed to eat something as he was far too thin, visible bones on prominent display. Even though Andy knew how old he was, Harry appeared to be much younger mostly because of his small size. She looked around for his guardians, wanting to ask them pointed questions. Not seeing them, she decided to ask him about their absence.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr Potter. Are your guardians here? I have some questions for them and will also need them to sign an authorization form so that I may treat you."

Harry's voice cracked from being in that awkward stage between child and man as he said, "I can sign it."

Andy stilled. "I am sorry, Mr Potter, but that's impossible. You are a minor. You cannot authorize your own treatment as such. Can you floo them? It would only take a moment."

"It wouldn't do any good, Healer Tonks, as they would not sign any such form delivered in that manner, being Muggles and hating magic as they do. Plus, I would prefer not to involve them. After all, they're the ones who are responsible for the reasons I am here to see you for today."

Andy, who had felt her frustration mount, felt it lose out to sympathy at that little factoid. Quietly, she tried to reason with him. "Mr Potter, without that form, I cannot treat you. Is there truly no way you can get it signed?"

The boy shrugged. "Maybe. I can't be sure."

Andy sighed heavily. "Then I don't know how I can treat you. Is there something else I can do for you? I could contact the authorities for you to bring charges against your guardians." It would cause a furor of epic proportions, but she would do it. No child deserved to treated the way this one had, but especially not the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry Potter stared at her a moment. In a surprisingly firm voice, he stated, "I would not like to contact anyone regarding my private business. And it is my private business. Besides, I have taken steps to ensure that I am no longer in any danger from them. However, I am left with the quandary of how to repair the damage that has already been done. Perhaps another healer?"

Andy shook her head. "None would treat you without a signed authorization unless they are unlicensed and I am not sure what quality of care you would receive."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Then it's going to have to you." At her forbidding stare, he smile charmingly and said, "I'll just have to persuade you."

Andy gave him a doubtful look, but waited to find out his angle. As it turned out, she didn't have long to wait.

/\**R**/\**E**/\**S**/\**S**/\**U**/\**R**/\**E**/\**C**/\**T**/\**I**/\**O**/\**N**/\

Harry stared at the woman who bore a startling resemblance to a certain Death Eater. He'd noticed it right away. He'd noticed a lot of things. The empty waiting room. The lack of staff. The fraying of a robe sleeve. All were indicative of one thing.

"Healer Tonks... that is going to quickly become cumbersome. Do you mind if I call you Andromeda for the purpose of expediency?" At her slow nod, Harry began again, "Andromeda, I noticed a few things when I came in and I have a question for you. Where are your other patients?"

Andromeda Tonks stood rigid in front of him. "I don't think that's any of your business, Mr Potter."

Harry shrugged. "I also noticed that you're a dead ringer for your sister who's in Azkaban. That can't be helpful to your practice."

She stared at him and whispered, "How would you know what Bella looks like?"

Harry was irked. "I can read a paper." Of course the real reason was that he had clear memories of Bella's face. Too clear sometimes. But he didn't like the presumption he was incapable of possessing basic knowledge of his enemies.

Andromeda sat down heavily in a chair. "What is it exactly that you are trying to say?"

"If your practice is failing, why don't you just close it up and go back to work at St Mungos? I assume you were trained there and spent at least some time in residence there?"

Andromeda looked torn. "I was there for years as a specialist in magical wounds and injuries. I was one of the best if not _the_ best. But there are currently no positions open. None at all."

Harry gaze sharpened. He refused to feel sympathy for her. It was a sad story, but there were a lot of those out there. And he could certainly turn her life around if she would show even an iota of the pragmatism with which he was capable of. Otherwise, she would just sink with barely a ripple left by her passage. He certainly wouldn't shed a tear. His only regret would be wasting such a resource.

Andromeda Tonks, as a Healer who needed him, was very useful. Andromeda Tonks, as a specialist in magical wounds who was beholden to him, was a prize without price. She was a piece of the puzzle that he hadn't even known he needed. And her price was far lower than he would have possibly have expected to pay. Distasteful perhaps, but what was fame for, but to use to fuel your goals?

Calmly, he stated, "I have a solution to both of our situations."

She gave a look of disillusionment. "I don't see what you could possibly suggest that would solve my situation. Yours could be solved with a signature and a quick interview."

Harry shrugged. "If you were to be the Healer to the Boy-Who-Lived, the sky would be the limit as far as your practice is concerned. It would trump your family's history, your appearance, and your choices. Surely that would be a good solution?"

Andromeda looked startled. "Why would you suggest that? It makes no sense. I'll treat you without any of that if you do those two little things. You offer something that is too good to be true. My family, before I left them, taught me not to trust something that makes no sense."

Harry smiled tightly. "It makes perfect sense. I don't trust easily. But I would be more trusting of someone who owes me a huge favor. Even better, if at the same time, she has done something for which she would be in some small amount of trouble over if information that is my private business got out."

Andromeda gave him a cool stare. "That's why I won't treat you."

"Of course, the amount of trouble would be minor. A slap on the wrist. Maybe a six month suspension. Maybe merely a warning. A token, really. Versus a successful practice."

"Versus being a target for any of the remaining fanatics from the old Blood War." She gave him a confused glance. "What possible reason do you have for insisting on this? I don't understand your true motives."

Harry countered, "You don't have to understand for this to work. You only have to say yes."

Andromeda said with finality in her voice, "No. I'll have Mimsy show you out."

Harry sat there musing as Andromeda started to walk out the door. How valuable was she? When he couldn't even trust the school mediwitch, Andromeda Tonks, with her steely will and troublesome morals, was worth far more than her weight in galleons. All the more so since that wouldn't even buy her, an admirable trait in a minio... an ally.

"Voldemort's back."

Andromeda flinched and whirled, all in one motion. "What did you just say?"

"I said Voldemort's back. The grand ponce. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You-Know-Who. He's back." Harry admired her for only giving the smallest flinch at the maniac's name. He'd certainly seen far worse reactions.

Her voice was low. "You're mad. Utterly raving mad."

Harry shrugged. "Is that your medical opinion?"

Andromeda sat back down next to him. "What do you know? And how do you know it?"

"I know Voldemort didn't die that day. His body was destroyed, but his spirit hung around, cling to our world somehow. I've encountered his shade three times since. So far so good. Still, it's just a matter of time until he's re-embodied. When that happens..." Harry let his voice trail off.

"Why should I believe you?"

Harry shrugged. "Believe or don't believe. Just add it to the reasons you have to help me. After all, if there's even a chance of him returning, you should do your utmost to aid the side against him. And make no mistake, I am that side."

Her eyes narrowed in realization. "You want my ability to treat magical wounds. You think you'll have to fight him. A skilled and discreet healer would be an asset."

Harry smiled in acknowledgment. "You are intelligent. Got it in one."

She shook her head. "I would be putting a target on myself. A bigger target," she amended.

"You'd be a target anyway. A Pureblood marrying a Muggleborn? Large target or small, they'd get around to you sooner or later."

Andromeda laughed, shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with a thirteen year old boy. I must be crazy. I can't agree to this."

Harry threw out the one thing that he thought might sway her. Andromeda Tonks was, after all, still a Pureblood. "Who's the head of House Black right now?"

She stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."

Harry smiled. "I mean, now that Arcturus Black is dead, who's the Head of your former family?"

Andromeda sighed. "You know of my family's disgrace. Three were Death Eaters and another married one. The current Head of House..." She trailed off

Harry corrected her. "Two were Death Eaters."

Andromeda stared at him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"What I mean is that Sirius Black, my _Godfather_, is not, and has never been, a Death Eater, did not betray my family, and is innocent of every foul thing that has been laid against his door." If she pressed the issue, Harry was prepared to make promises on Sirius' behalf.

She looked tired. "I would say you're mad again, but it's getting repetitious."

Harry produced his wand from his pocket. He really needed to purchase a quick release wand holster, he thought idly. "I, Harry James Potter, do solemnly swear, by my life and my magic, that everything I have told to Andromeda Tonks just now is true. So mote it be."

There was a flash of brilliant light. Andromeda Tonks shielded shocked eyes, an expression of disbelief on her face. "True," she whispered. "Everything you said is true."

Harry was blinking away spots of his own. "Yes, so it is. So are you on board or do I need to tell you more things that are dangerous to us both and could get you killed?" His voice grew grim as he said the last part, hoping the woman would leave well enough alone.

Andromeda, who had appeared to have many more questions, fell silent, though whether because of Harry's words or his tone was unknown. She chewed her lower lip as she considered. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision. "No, I've heard enough. I'll help you, Mr Potter. Your terms... are acceptable. First, however, I need to know if you're going to get into trouble for that little display of magic?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't have to worry about the Trace anymore, just the area spell detectors. And since this is Diagon Alley..." He trailed off, his meaning made clear.

Her eyes widened a bit at this little bit of knowledge. "All right then, I suppose that we had better get started."

Harry held up a hand to her. "Just one more thing, Andromeda. I won't be able to acknowledge you as my healer until closer to the end of summer. I have a great deal to do. However, the week before classes start I will be here in Diagon Alley and will make sure that there will be no one who is unaware of just how invaluable you are to me. In return for making you wait, I will pay you a fee of two hundred galleons. Is that sufficient?"

Andromeda looked thoughtful, the nodded. "It's not as soon as I'd like, but the money will more than cover my expenses in the meantime."

Just like that, she took out her wand and began casting diagnostic spells. Harry sat there, a smile on his face. He considered the payment for her services to be amazingly cheap. And he hadn't even had to offer her reinstatement in the Black Family. When he asked Sirius to do so later and told her about it, it would be a tremendous reinforcement to her loyalty. After all, such a useful... ally should be bound to him in every way possible.

It was a good fifteen minutes before she was done. Harry didn't recognize one in ten of the spells she cast, but, then again, he'd never really been a healer, though he could do just enough in a pinch. He asked her quickly, "Can you check my eyes as well?"

Andromeda gave him a cool, assessing glance. "I already did. Are you ready to hear it all?"

Harry nodded curtly. "Yes."

"You're severely underweight for your height by approximately thirty pounds. You are also suffering from inhibited skeletal growth from systemic malnourishment, perhaps by as much as ten inches. You have multiple injuries and long term damage to your ligaments and tendons. This is exhibited by aches and pains during cold weather or periods of high physical exertion. Your eyesight is compromised by that same malnourishment. Without correction, it would continue to degrade until permanent blindness results in between five and ten years. Your bones are only half the strength they should be from a lack of calcium during your formative years. You have a weakened immune system, that your magic has had to make up for, leaving you magically weaker than you should be. Your magical core has also suffered and is only half what it could have been if fueled properly."

Harry stirred uneasily at this. It was far worse than even he had thought. He tried to remain impassive as he asked, "What is my prognosis?"

She gave him a look of irritation. "I am tempted to tell you something terrible as revenge for throwing all of this upon me. But I lack such a low form of humor. And my oaths supersede my personal feelings. So here it is. Your prognosis is good. Everything's treatable. There's an expensive treatment of rare potions that are available at the apothecary next door that will correct almost all of the damage IF coupled with proper nutrition and exercise. The only issue is-"

Harry spat out. "Pain. It's going to hurt a lot."

Andromeda nodded, any satisfaction she received from the knowledge masked. "Yes, Mr Potter. You will be agonizing pain off and on for the twenty-four days it takes for this treatment to run its course. It is a consequence of the uneven growth of bones, tendons, and ligaments. Worse, you cannot take pain medications as they could too easily mask a real problem."

Harry nodded, then asked a question. "And my eyes?"

Andromeda said, "There are two routes we can go. First, we can allow the treatment to finish and then reassess your eyesight. At that time, we can come up with a solution."

Harry shook his head, his expression grim. "No. What is the other method?"

"The Perficio Visum Potion. It's _expensive_. Much more so than even the treatment for the malnourishment. But your eyesight will be better than perfect afterwards."

Harry calculated. "How expensive?"

"As much as ten thousand galleons, depending the latest prices of the more rare ingredients."

Harry winced. That was a fourth of his trust vault. Even if it was refilled once a year, that was difficult to swallow. Worse, at the exchange rate of fifty pounds to the galleon, the cost of the eye treatment amounted to half a million pounds.

Andromeda Tonk's eyes glittered as she waited for his decision. Harry nodded decisively. "I choose that route." He also had another question that occurred to him. "Healer Tonks, will my eating a purely vegetarian diet affect the treatment?"

Andromeda looked at him searchingly. "I wouldn't recommend it. You'd be better off eating meat. I would recommend at least two portions per day. Minimum. I would actually prefer you eat three to four both for your physical growth and to fuel your magical core."

Harry shook his head. "Unfortunately, it impossible for me to ingest the flesh of an animal right now. So can I get by on a non-meat diet?"

She nodded. "You can. I'll get you a list of what you need to eat each day to thrive. I warn you, between the food and the pain, it will be daunting."

For some reason, Harry's slow smile, his eyes gleaming, made Andromeda Tonks made flinch more than the sound of the maniac's name. It was an interesting fact to be filed away. "That is not a problem. I have faced things that were... daunting before."

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Harry stretched aching shoulders as he completed his shopping, tired both from the variety of places he'd been as well as from the stress of casting and holding multiple glamors the entire time. He'd wanted to keep his purchases untraceable to a single individual, while at the same needing to appear approximately the same size for at least the clothing purchases. Now he was paying the price. This... _his_ body really was weak. Still, he now had everything on his list, including one slightly illegal apartment trunk (at least while at Hogwarts) disguised as a simple, if elaborate, traveling trunk, charmed permanently feather light and shrinkable, that currently rested in his pocket. Of the three main rooms within the trunk, the one Harry had designated as a library was already stuffed with books on a huge variety of subjects, some of which he actually could use to increase his own knowledge. Of course, the usefulness of said knowledge was an entirely different thing. Another room had been filled with a variety of items he might find useful.

He had picked up two different backpacks charmed to hold ten times as much as they appeared to while remaining permanently feather light via the charm. Harry also had two different wand holsters, one of which, like one of the two backpacks, he planned to give away as a gift. The other was strapped to his forearm and once he remastered the quick release feature, would hold his wand, currently back in his pocket after Harry had launched it across _The Leather Shoppe_ to the amusement of the owner. Harry had been both angry and embarrassed, only just keeping himself from hexing the chuckling shop owner. He would use the memory as a goad to regain his former skill.

At some point he would need to purchase another wand, once his magic had fully expanded alongside his physical growth. It would serve both as a backup as well as a further disguise for his magical signature when he went hunting Death Eaters later this summer. Harry already knew he could force his magical signature to resemble either of his former selves. A new wand would change it further still. And be useful for another summer project.

Harry had purchased a dozen two foot cubes of dressed granite, currently resting in his trunk. The owner of the shop from where he'd bought them hadn't blinked an eye at the purchase, for which he'd paid in cash. The man was likely thinking that the persona he had been wearing at the time, of a tall young man in his mid-twenties, was likely an advanced apprentice of a runemaster, wishing to practice warding and runecraft on the side, or as a project to earn extra money. He hadn't been completely wrong, as Harry planned to use them to serve as wardstones once they were sufficiently inscribed.

Fortunately, preparing the granite for warding was not something with which he would need to practice. Riddle had been a master warder, continually studying the art, from his time at Hogwarts all the way up until his... end. It had been in response to a fervent belief that the only way he would be able to defeat Dumbledore would be to break the wards of Hogwarts, herself, a daunting task for any wardmaster. Personally, Harry calculated them to be no better than one in ten, but, then again, everyone had their own obsessions, some madder than others. Discarding the notion with a snort of derision, Harry thoughtfully continued down his mental list.

Harry was currently wearing all new clothes, all of his old ones having been binned. They weren't of the highest quality, as he knew that even growth charms designed to keep up with a year or two of someone's changes in height wouldn't be enough to make up for the potions regimen he was about to embark upon.

Instead, Harry, with ruthless practicality, had invested in solid and serviceable items that he could discard without regret. He would replace them with the finest silks and other materials when he was done with his growth. Harry would also have the crest of House Potter placed on his new robes, both school and otherwise. He still couldn't believe the old bastard had even hid the knowledge of his heritage from the old him. At least Dumbledore would one day get the opportunity to see what his actions had wrought, assuming he still alive and able to comprehend it.

Harry had also visited the Potter Family Vault. The contents had been surprising, even to someone with his memories. Then again, Riddle had never actually been to even the Malfoy Family Vault or that of any of his supporters, instead expecting his demands for funding to be met without quibble. It was one thing to know intellectually about the funds available, but an entirely different matter to see those funds in person. In addition to the millions of galleons neatly stacked, occupying an entire wall, there were pieces of magical art, furnishings from a variety of periods, weapons, armor, books, scrolls, tapestries, magical paintings, oddments, and chests of gems and jewelry.

Harry had loaded all of the family paintings, most of the books, two different weapons, both magical, and three different pieces of jewelry. Of the jewelry, the p_ièce de résistance_ of the regular collection was in his pocket. Harry knew exactly what he was going to do with that particular item. He could feel it's magical aura right through his pocket.

Fortunately, Harry had no need to visit his trust vault. Earlier, he'd been given a magical talisman that would suffice to pay for anything in Diagon Alley, while possessing the ability to morph into a likeness of a Muggle credit card for paying for things in that world. The Goblins had been reluctant to part with it, but Harry had changed their mind by the simple method of asking to withdraw half his his trust fund for the stated purpose of opening an account in a Muggle bank. There had been scowls and angry looks, but in the end, they had produced a glossy black stone, a flat ovoid in shape, a couple of inches long. It had worked a charm throughout Diagon Alley and Harry had no reason to doubt that it would do the same in the muggle world. A good thing since he needed certain Muggle clothing and gear as well.

He had also perused a listing of Potter Family properties, surprised by just how many there were. His eyes had traveled down the list until he'd come to one that caught his eye, mainly for the location, being less than five miles from_ her_. Harry had taken the keys for that one, attached to a one use portkey that would transport him to the front door, and placed them in his pocket for later.

Harry had also discussed with the Head of the Magical Components Department of Gringotts the logistics of rendering down the basilisk. The Goblin hadn't been too happy with the strictures of blindfolds and unlicensed portkeys, but he'd grudgingly acceded as he knew the sheer value of the prize to be recovered. The project would take place one week from today in the early morning hours. Harry did one final check of his mental list and decided it was now time to head back to his healer.

Harry had commissioned Healer Tonks to pick up the various nutritional potions he needed since she had to pick up in person the exceedingly expensive, and apparently infinitely delicate, eye potion. He'd already paid her initial fees as well as those for the potions and his 'gift' for making her wait for his support. Now he only needed her to administer the eye potion for him.

Harry found Andromeda waiting impatiently just inside her office for him. As he dropped the glamor, she was already locking the door behind him, something he found refreshingly security conscious. After that, she gestured him to a different room, where a large chair with an odd, tilted back headrest awaited him.

"Sit down, Mr Potter."

Harry gave her another of his charming smiles as he said, "Please, Andromeda, call me Harry. I think, considering the circumstances, that we should both be on a first name basis."

Andromeda shrugged. "Fine. _Harry,_ have a seat."

As Harry sat, he noted two packages on the side table. The first was a large box a couple of feet square by slightly more than a foot high. The other was a simple white paper bag large enough, perhaps, to hold a couple of donuts.

"I assume those are my potions?"

Andromeda nodded. "You assume correctly, Harry. This," she gestured towards the larger box, "is a full course of nutritional potions and supplements that will last the full twenty-four days of treatment. You are to take one red and one blue potion twice per day, once at breakfast and again just before bedtime. Do not forget one, as the effects are cumulative."

Harry nodded, then seeing that she expected an answer, said, "I understand your instructions. I will not forget."

Andromeda paused, as if gauging his sincerity, then continued, "This," dumping the contents of the bag onto the counter, "is your eye potion."

Harry stared, not impressed by the three tiny vials, two pink and one orange. He murmured, "So that's what ten thousand galleons buys..."

Andromeda looked amused. "It's exactly what ten thousand galleons buys. And a bargain at that price. Now tilt your head back. I'll pour the pink potions into your eyes one at a time right after you drink the orange one."

Harry did as instructed. As he sat there his head tilted back, orange vial in hand, he commented in an arch tone, "I suppose it's now that you're going to tell me that this won't hurt a bit."

Andromeda stood beside his chair looking down on him, the pink vials in her hand. She met his eyes squarely, and in a soft, considering tone, stated, "No, Harry, I really wouldn't say that."

/\**R**/\**E**/\**S**/\**S**/\**U**/\**R**/\**E**/\**C**/\**T**/\**I**/\**O**/\**N**/\


End file.
